Shut The Hell Up And Eat A Cinnamon Roll Guy

My dad collapsed from a sudden heart attack and died. The shock hit my mom like a freight train, and she blacked out cold. By the time I raced home from college, his body had already been reduced to ashes in the crematorium. Grief barely had a chance to sink in before the debt collectors pounded on our door. That was when the ugly truth emerged. My dad had secretly racked up billions in loans, saddling my mom and me. A year later, the relentless harassment from those goons drove my mom to despair. She ended her life, and I was forced to drop out of school, scavenging dumpsters just to scrape by. But fate had a cruel twist in store. I spotted my "dead" dad, alive and thriving, hosting an extravagant birthday bash for his secret son. I stormed in, desperate for answers, only to be hurled out by security. My head cracked against the pavement, and everything went black. When my eyes fluttered open again, I was inexplicably back on that fateful day of my dad's heart attack.

Arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, Mafia/cartel romance As the only daughter of the Kansas City capo, at eighteen years of age, I was given to the son of my father’s consigliere, a man who was expected to accomplish great things for the famiglia. Things didn’t go the way we planned. There wasn’t love. My husband was a traitor, taking part in a coup against the famiglia. He’s now dead. I’m free. Until the fateful night my brother, our new capo, informs me that I’ve once again been promised in marriage. He explains that as a childless widow and the daughter of the late capo dei capi, I am desired. Requested. Aléjandro Roríguez is the son of the leader of the Roríguez cartel. My brother married a woman from the cartel, securing the Mafia/cartel alliance. He says that it’s now my turn. I’ve only met my future husband a few times, but I know without a doubt that I don’t like him. Loving him is impossible. I’ve lived in a marriage without love. I won’t do it again. Aléjandro lives a dangerous existence. Death saved me once before. Maybe it will again. Have you been Aleatha’d?

I May Love You... but I Hate You More Rena thought she could move on. Yoké thought he could forget her. But when fate throws them back into each other’s lives, old feelings ignite into something far more dangerous. Jealousy becomes their language. Revenge becomes their game. And every misunderstanding pushes them deeper into a cycle of passion and hate they can’t escape. They say love conquers all… but what if love is the very reason they destroy each other? ★Sequel to Till Worlds Do Us Part

Sava, A girl who can remember past of someone was destined to visit the drion masion along with her brat friends. Drion mansion is the house where the quint and old piano was hiden, with a full mystery. But they were happened to trap there.

Everyone who lives will die, and nothing they do can stop it. That's the way things are. The circle of life. And a single undeniable truth. The minute we are born we start our journey of that cycle and we will continue down that path until we take our very last breath. However, not all life spans are the same. Some people live to an old age. Others die young. Some die of natural causes, and others die of accidents, murder, or disease. It's the sad truth of being human and death doesn’t discriminate. But what if someone could see their death coming? Would they do everything in their power to stop it from happening, or would they live their lives to the fullest since they knew it was coming to an end? Would they fight tooth and nail to be able to stay earthside for even a minute longer or would they succumb to the inevitable? This is the universal question and the only ones who can answer it are the people who saw their deaths, people like me. My name is Remi Woods. I'm eighteen years old, and for as long as I can remember, I've been able to see how a person will die with a single touch. At first, I wasn't quite sure what was happening and I was terrified that maybe I was going crazy, but after my visions kept coming to fruition no matter what I did, I knew I was different, and not in a good way.

I used to be the most promising composer of my generation. But while I was working on my latest piece, my husband Charles Lambert's childhood friend destroyed everything I had. She slashed my face, stole my compositions, and set fire to my house—leaving me to burn alive alongside the kitten I'd just adopted. Then, as if my death were just a spark for her success, she posted my compositions online, claiming I'd plagiarized her. And people believed her. Everyone did. Strangers on the internet sneered and spat my name, and my own husband, Charles, chose to believe her over me. Even the International Musical Society rescinded my award and handed it to her without a second thought. My students, who once followed me loyally, were now fawning over her. I became the laughingstock of the entire internet—mocked, discredited, erased. It wasn't until a week later, when someone stumbled upon the charred remains of my lakeside studio, that they found what was left of me.

The fake daughter married my boyfriend. My mouth was taped and I was being chopped into pieces by her admirer. The entire family took turns to call me. My mother said, "How ungrateful you are. I should not have brought you home back then." Father added, "Don't bother coming back if you do not attend Samantha's wedding." Brother said, "Let me tell you, you shall root in hell if you choose not to attend the wedding." At that moment, I didn't even have the energy to shout for help due to excessive blood loss. Everyone lost their patience, "Speak up! Are you dead or what?" I could only see the calls being disconnected. One thing they did not know, I was really dead.

On the third day after my death, Eliza Sutton received the call to claim my body. She was resting in another man's arms. She said nonchalantly, "He's dead, huh? Just cremate it and call me afterward." My body was fed to the flames and reduced to ashes. When the staff were done, they contacted Eliza again. Irritation flashed in her eyes as she snapped, "I heard you. I'm on my way."

Jack immigrated to an equal world and locked on to a Judge System that gave compensations to rebuffing evil. Subsequently, an Adjudicator of Death who remained exempt from the rules that everyone else follows was consequently conceived. A livestream channel named Deathstream Channel subsequently showed up in different major livestream stages, with an appointed authority's pen and a Death Notice shipped off each lawbreaker.

Abductors bind me in a basement, subjecting me to the torment of dozens. Meanwhile, my husband, Evan Foster, dines by candlelight with his lover, Carmen Locke. My abductors grant me one chance to call for help, and I dial Evan's number. I'm certain he will come for me. I believe Evan would give his life for me, as he once vowed that his future held no meaning without me. Clinging to hope, I call the number etched in my heart. However, Evan scolds me for interrupting their date. "You think I'll come get you? Dream on. Maybe I'll bother to collect your body if you die out there." His words crush me, and I do die. Five days later, Evan stands before the autopsy table, grimacing at the mangled remains before him. Even as the police department's finest forensic expert, having dissected thousands of bodies, he condemns the killer's brutality. Yet, despite his cold dismissal of my desperate plea over the phone, he now wears a look of pity. Evan, if you knew these fragments belonged to me, would you still find me worthy of your compassion?